top-o-themarnintoyee
bowts&bo;
    wts&bow;
       ts&bowt;
        s&bowts;
                            -dot.
th’orizon

like-

(c             S

      C    o             A n
f             T

    T              e        E

          t       R
  R

                  t     E      i)

            D.
                   -o’er te blew
th’salty err shmellshlike.

             home.

through a bruised eye
there’s little to see
but the scratches on my arms
and the rows of teeth
in your jagged grin.
i can’t move
from one side of the room
to the other
without your needle.
you nurse me back to health
in your ****** arms
and tear me down again,
stitch me up like a doll
and drag me home.
what can I say?
i guess I'm a sucker
for all that romantic crap.

By blackened tables
my blackened lungs
will cough a cry,
a call of blood
for visions past
and time now slowed;
a head of smoke
and hands of crow.
A field of hay
and ever green
when harvest's full
a child's dream
bestowed upon
the crowning heir;
a head of smoke
and hands of air.

Dark murky air hangs low
over grimy, slick asphalt.
The stale air thick with heady perfume,
every corner dripping with ****** frustration.
Down, through dismal, dark alleyways,
each click of her heels holds a feeling of self importance.
Like a Broadway star’s bold steps –
But life is not a cabaret.

A mysterious energy dances
on the biting edge of the wind,
smelling of car exhaust and
carrying with it a feeling –
the sweet feeling of glamour.
Thrill of broken bottles,
beer soaked clothes,
lonely desperation.

Tousled dark hair,
filled with glitter from the night before,
a cloud of intoxicating whisky scent
heavily laden over her shoulders.
Through her jaded, glassy eyes
She sees only darkened shades of gray.
The neon signs flicker –
like a beacon of faltering hope.

As she pulls the last cigarette from her pack
The ruin floods into her veins.
Stumbling through the streets,
Fuming colors flash by,
Their images leaving imprints
in her tender, bruised, mind.

Surrounded by a dark shroud –
Silhouettes of black, grey, brown;
a dreary collage,
Accented only by the bright lights,
flashing signs,
and endless advertisements.

She notices the familiar,
The grounding,
The taste of the nicotine on her tongue,
Another poison laced drag,
Warming her from her numb complacency.

She tried to escape her lonely heart and empty bed –
Looking for love in the abandoned, crumbling buildings
plastered with
lights, success and fame.
Yet there they are,
Haunting every step,
Delicately tapping out her tale of heartbreak.
This was her new life in the spectacular New York City –
The beautiful land of decay.

In a place of confusion
I mistook intellect for maturity,
Inconsistency for well-roundedness.
A notch-knocking revelation.
Open eyes make sense of more
than filtered reality.

With their necks and hair and noses
fancy chairs
           hams hips, laughs.
Voices sque-

a sudden movement
rushing, racing sand
smashing
crashing
peppering the audience

-aghast

shocking,

tragedy.

It was so pretty too.

With their necks and hair and noses
fancy chairs
          hams hips, less laughter
Voices still squeaking

They walk out doors and into cars
and back into reality.

our bodies fit(    your breathing
lockingin2-1   .breathhhonmy
another so      neck draws (  to
p. r. e. c.      ME IN you ) ouT.
i. s. e. l. y.     Time. is /running
it’s -HARD-   out/ everysinglu
to-take-them    larbreathhh cou
a    p   a            ntsd        10
    r             t              o 9        8
) …buti                w     TicK.
ca              7                  n
               nts            6       5
ta                  4
                 y,                        3
s            o        r           2       To
   r                           cK.
          
                           1
                  y/

debauchery! tasting of
salt (& bruised-flesh)

the warMTH of
(,hiding, in)
your MouTH.

through (i’m)
the tonic-s(hit)-stained-s.***-hole
of a hotelroom.

youheldme
.and it was ok

an insistence;
an automatic pouring.
a stream through a vessel.
I am so drawn to my own waterfall
I will throw myself off that edge
to taste its bittersweetness.

I'm filled to the brink,
Pouring over the edges of my mind.
You left me running,

like a faucet,

without the time to catch my breath.

My feet touch down and I walk
Sure and steady,

trying desperately not to spill a drop.

Reefs forming in the grain

chewed up by these hungry years.

Her heels crushing;

little petals into a brown bough,

Speckled like a tumbled shell,

From the handprints of many generations.

-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -

Glossy lacquer,

smeared on dark lips in steady

paintbrush strokes

Cold moulded clean-cut strips

clacking unerringly as her heels

skip across the artificial wood.

as I try to find myself-
in between these shots-
you jam your key into my temple.

Although I Helplessly Squirm

you

are

relentless.

You try and piece together your
rather simple thoughts…
and string them through my brain,
Fragments of things
festering, old
and altogether unattractive.
decorated and decomposing,
my skull aches.

Each heavy breath

falling in and out of time

with the hollow stroking of the clock

ticking endlessly into the dark distant unknown.

Your limbs

carelessly strewn amongst the ever­building clutter

provides a careful serenity;

A calm that dangles precariously,

waiting to fall into the surrounding chaos.

Tense and untouched,

my eyes will keep you safe.

Whimsical strings of particular words;
Cut and pasted into delicate furnishings.
A cadence,
Rhythm,
Feeling.
Weaved together into metaphorical meanings
And deeper understandings of not only oneself
But the collective mind of humankind
As if great discoveries are made with every letter.

The barely comprehensible wisdom resonates,
Echoing off walls and through empty minds
As if carrying more of a meaning
Than a gentle breeze
Entertaining a slip of paper
Through its nimble fingers.

It’s hollow bones would crumble under
the slightest press.

When you can't look strangers in the eye
because lies they've sold you keep you high
and paranoid that we're all just the monsters that we try to hide.

They set the bait but you won't bite
you've long had your jaw stitched tight
terrified you'd open it and say something less than polite.

It rained all year here

In this little nowhere

Where we gorged ourselves

On instant gratification

you called me lovely

And I called you a liar

Because my soul was too bitter

And you could not get inside

I could say that I’m sorry

But you’d call me hypocrite

Calling a bluff that

In apathy lay

My heavy eyelids flutter
and the yellow light reveals the furrow in your brow.
You frown at me

But I don't know what to say.

I try and dip
my oar into

the glassy water.



my subconscious shatters.

and I warn you to watch out for the pieces.

Screaming words into the crowd
like the floating secrets,
half burnt
and trickling down the river.
Such a small force laden with such great weight across it's shoulders.
We huddle around, a shivering mass,
Divided between the crisp air and the unwavering sob.

Before now I was never quite sure,
you said you felt
infinite,
but all of our voices amount to a
whimper.
A whimper drowned out by the words screamed into the crowd,
by another lost stare,
watching the little black and white speckles
float down the surface of the water.
You can't help but quiver,
and as I watch your fragile frame tremble I can't help but feel helpless.

If you leave
and walk through that great golden door,
take my sweater.
It looks awfully cold out there.

I have been fabricating tales,
Tall and Long;
Draped with clouds and skies and winds.
Mountains rip the blue,
Thin as leaves in the waning light.
Grass glistening with crystal
poured from the heart of the
Gray,
Looming
Mass.
Here the rain is warm
and sweet,
not cool and bitter
like the shroud you’ve cast over my head.
A pressing force,
A painful pressure.
I lay down on the white
between the ink
and the daisies, holding words
and tasting the falling sky.

Trapped between 4 closing walls, dripping down to grey under fluorescent lighting.

Shooting bullets into the swirling clouds overhead, (trembling arms) misguided passion contained by your choir of puppets and strings.

Raven in a field of crows fallen down between the rows of corn and smothered by mounds of empty bottles stacking high towards the heavens,

As down towards the underworld the red blood seeps turning black earth grotesque shades of crimson, bubbling in the intense heat.

It’s so easy to give way to the current behind the closed door as we find our bodies sprawling out along the hillside fresh and sparkling with the tears from the sky (and our cheeks).

Your dim basement sets the scene for the beautiful experimentation where the walls are no more than cement and barriers from prying eyes.

In a haze of passion we indulge our problems, hatred, loveless souls with pointless ***** and meaningless *** that does little more to help than delude our dismal existence.

With a stumbling trod we help each other back home (like we always do) with glittering fields of shrapnel shards blinding our eyes with reflected moonlight.

In a trail of destruction we set the sidewalks aflame in a whirlwind blaze where we wait this out.

A world on fire; finding refuge in the heavily medicated masses as my broken back gives way to pressure of the dense fog overhead.

Housed back in your empty expectations and delirious confusion you build me a tomb of papers and pews.

Misguided by hidden eyes luring you with a melody of golden string cell bars, as you wander like Shepard-less sheep.

You grab me with your venom breath and razor claws, trying to pull me down to your personal hell of - crufixholymonumentspriestscommandmentstemplesjesusmarymosesbloody­hypocritical *******.

And in the misty stale green air where I can barely see my own hand (let alone your glazed over eyes) you build the nerve

in your ******* arrogant throne

to ask me

why I’m bitter.